


It's Lassiter, Not Michelangelo

by TwentyFirstCenturyJane



Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe: College, Bathroom Sex, Blowjobs, Cuddling, Dating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:04:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwentyFirstCenturyJane/pseuds/TwentyFirstCenturyJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Shawn is naked and Lassiter learns what "Life Art" means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Lassiter, Not Michelangelo

Carlton Lassiter isn’t a detective yet, he’s still busy in graduate school tackling his Criminology Masters, but once he’s done, it’ll be off to the Academy and then on to Chief of Police. It isn’t a dream so much as it is something that is set in stone for him; it’s going to happen, there is no alternative.

  
So having been dragged down to the local community center for what is termed a “Live Art” class, by a perky blonde named Juliet is a bit of a surprise. (She’s pretty enough he supposes, but nothing that he’d term spectacular, but she’s been a decent friend to him, even if that in and of itself is surprising. He’s very aware of just how off-putting people find him.) He could be spending his time down at the shooting range with his brand new glock; or hell, even studying, doing extra credit papers, something a little more manly and acceptable, but instead he’s shifting uncomfortably on his wooden stool, sketchpad and charcoal in hand.

“Are you all right?” Juliet questions, her blue eyes sharp as she takes in the lines of his face. He’s never really had a friend before, and the genuine honesty behind her question startles him.

“Fine, just wondering why in the hell I’m here.”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Because I asked you to come and you’re my friend, besides, you can’t stay cooped up in your apartment all weekend with your books and a bottle of Scotch.”

He scoffs, shows what she knows, he damn well could do that if he hadn’t sat down at that diner a little over a year ago and picked up a little blonde shadow that he can’t shake no matter how hard he tries, or how mean he is to her. (Realizes it’s been months since he’s actively tried to discourage her presence in his life.)

He really ought to be at the shooting range.

He’s minutes away from packing up and just walking out (really he is, Juliet’s lethal pout non-withstanding) when the door opens and the most beautiful man Carlton’s possibly ever seen strolls in. He’s tan with a wide smile and green eyes, dark hair spiked and artfully messy in a way that Carlton himself could never pull off; and he’s only wearing a robe. Sudden realization of exactly what “Live Art” means and he rounds on Juliet.

“This is a nude art class?” he demands in a hissed whisper, it takes her a moment to respond, her blue eyes trained on the man that just walked in.

“Oh come on Carlton, it isn’t like you haven’t seen what he has under that robe before.”

He only resists hitting her because she’s a girl. He’s also fairly certain that his own anatomy looks nothing like the man in front of him, Carlton himself is lanky, long and lean, with the requisite chest hair and when the robe drops, the man in front of him is tan, toned, looking like a god-damn Ken doll except that all of his lower regions are still very much intact; but his skin is smooth, not necessarily flawless, there are scars and dips, rough calluses on his hands and just how close is Carlton looking that he can see calluses of all things?

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Juliet questions, her own sketch already started and Carlton realizes with a jolt that he’s been staring without drawing anything for what is possibly a creepily long amount of time; he quickly does a few sweeps of the charcoal, beginning of the man’s shoulder; the bicep muscle that the future cop suddenly has a very strong urge to bite, to test the strength of the muscle, put some kind of mark on the tan skin that claims this other man as _his_.

Harsh realization that he doesn’t even know the man’s name has him biting down on his tongue for a distraction as he continues to draw. Wonders where this man gets his confidence to sprawl in front of a room of strangers nothing between them but air; then wonders how this class isn’t being bombarded with letters from concerned citizens right now with the frankly obscene way that the model lounges, green eyes roving around the room.

Then green meets blue and a lascivious grin is sent Carlton’s way; hectic flush along his cheekbones, sudden awareness and hatred of his Irish complexion. The grin widens, green eyes spark, and the warm gaze of the model doesn’t leave Carlton for the entirety of the class.

The lanky almost-cop refuses to look up, refuses to meet the eye of the model, sketches his piece from memory because the sight of that naked man will be burned into his retinas for possibly the rest of forever and he isn’t entirely sure if that’s a bad thing or not.

When the class is over and the model is busy tugging his robe back on, Carlton bolts, he doesn’t run (with his long legs he doesn’t have to) but he does move swifter than entirely necessary, and doesn’t really take a breath until he’s out on the sunny street. He gulps in lungs full of air, winded by the memory of that man and his damn green eyes.

And isn’t that just the dumbest thing he’s ever heard?

He knows nothing about this man other than he’s a nude model for a class at the community center and he’s the sexiest thing that Carlton’s seen in a long time. (Which really isn’t saying much, his last girlfriend having been junior year of high school, and he’s never actually had a boyfriend, just, dates.)  
He needs a drink, or his glock.

“Carlton!” Juliet’s petite frame is darting across the street towards him, her sketchpad in hand, and he stops to wait for her.

“Interesting class,” he manages, clears his throat, nervous suddenly and she smiles up at him, cheerful concern.

“Are you sure you’re all right? You blushed the whole class and then ran out! Come on, I thought our model was cute,” she smiles at him, and he feels the dreaded heat return to his face and her smile widens along with her eyes, it makes her look slightly insane, “Oh my God! That was the problem, wasn’t it? You thought he was cute too!”

The resulting squeal this elicits nearly deafens him but her excitement is contagious so he smiles a little in response when she latches onto his arm and drags him along to the nearby coffee shop for a cup of caffeine and possibly a donut. (Which he may even pay for.)

000000000

The next week the class meets again, and Carlton finds himself sitting outside the door, a half hour early, hoping that their model is the same from the week before; and uncertain whether he’ll be able to stomach another hour of looking but not touching.

Sweet Lady Justice he’s pathetic.

Victoria had told him that (his last disastrous attempt at dating) but he’s never been so goddamn aware of it before.

Fifteen minutes after he arrives Juliet comes strolling down the hallway, two cups of coffee and a bag of scones in hand, her sketchpad tucked up under her slim arm. She’s dressed in a cheery pink floral top with jeans and she looks summery and gorgeous and Carlton wonders again exactly why it is she wants to hang around him. But he’s not going to question her about it, not when she’s willing to bring him breakfast and coffee just how he likes it and then sits outside their nude art class to commiserate with him on his epic gay crush.

She’s a better friend than he deserves.

“So, you gonna stick around after class this time, or you gonna run again?” she questions around a mouthful of scone and he sighs, sips his coffee, scalds his tongue.

“I….don’t know.”

She nods, pats his knee, takes a sip of her own coffee, winces at the temperature, “Well, if it makes you feel better, he was staring at you too.”

000000

As it turns out, whether the man was staring back or not is a moot point because the model is different. It’s still a man, but his skin is smooth, his head shaved close, chocolate skin and eyes, an easy if nervous smile, and he refuses to take off his boxers, which Carlton thinks makes him look patently ridiculous but Juliet can’t look away, and has a vaguely glazed expression that Carlton’s pretty sure is a carbon copy of how he was staring at the other man the week before.

He barely holds his laughter in, can actually concentrate on his drawing, and is rather pleased with the end result.

He takes his time packing away his supplies, watches out of the corner of his eye Juliet and the model’s attempts at flirting, they both look awkward and nervous as hell, but there’s something sort of…sweet about them he supposes.

What the hell did she put in his coffee?

“Hey Gus, come on, what’s the hold-up?”

The model from the week before comes in, green t-shirt and loose jeans, sneakers, his hair still artfully disheveled and his eyes even greener because of the shirt and Carlton can feel his stomach lurch as his heart skips and his brain blanks out; because how is it possible that the man looks just as good in clothes as he does out?

“Not now Shawn,” Gus hisses back before plastering back on his smile and turning towards Juliet again, she smiles back.

Shawn. Shawn is his name, it suits him, he decides, it’s a damn better choice than Carlton at the very least and he’s suddenly damp palmed, jittery, nervous as all hell when those green eyes center on him and a soft smirk is sent his way.

He’s torn between smiling back and running away when Shawn is suddenly at his side, warm smile, “Hi, I’m Shawn.”

Carlton takes the outstretched hand, feels those calluses against his own and a hot fission of want goes down his spine.

“Carlton,” he manages around a suddenly dry throat and Shawn’s smile is knowing, as though he’s very aware of the effect he’s having on the other man. Carlton wants to find that infuriating, be at least a little indignant at the assuming attitude of the other man, but all he can really do is fight the blush the cocky smirk sends across his features.

He is in so much trouble here.

“So, Carlton,” and the way that Shawn’s voice caresses the syllables of his name is so fucking hot he feels his knees knock together, “you free to get some lunch?”

More assumptions, the straightforward attitude should have him scoffing, as it is, he manages a semi-nonchalant shrug, “Might be, I have to check with Juliet.”

He nods towards the blonde and Shawn follows his gaze, his smile wilting a little, but Carlton misses it because he’s already headed over, and Juliet smiles brightly at him when he appears at her side. Carlton sizes up the man in front of him, this Gus, because he may not understand why Juliet stands by him, but he certainly understands why he stands by her; because she’s good and kind and wants to see the best in people and he’ll be damned if he lets her get hurt.

“Could you excuse us for a minute, Gus?” she asks, hand on his arm, Gus smiles and nods, steps over towards Shawn as Juliet and Carlton turn towards the corner.

“So?” she prompts, curious darting glances over towards the only other pair of people in the room.

“He wants to have lunch.”

Her squeal is contained and he’s so grateful for it that he smiles for real at her and she smiles back, giddy for him.

“That’s great, what are you still doing here?”

He shrugs slightly, shifts his stance, a little embarrassed, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay first.”

Her smile softens and she steps forward, hugs him tight, he couldn’t stop the way his arms fit around her even if he wanted to and it’s the first time he’s been hugged in a damn long while. (Had stopped hugging his mother when he was still in single digits, his father hadn’t really been around and when he was, Edward Lassiter wasn’t someone that stood for hugging. Hank still opened his arms for him, but Carlton had opted for the handshake at twelve, deeming himself too old to hug.) But this feels like when he used to put an arm around his sister’s shoulders as she sobbed her latest failed relationship into his shoulder; the moment before he went out and scared the living daylights out of whatever boy it was that had broken his baby sister’s heart.

“You really are just too sweet sometimes,” she gushes when she finally pulls away and he flushes lightly, squeezes her hand.

“Yeah, yeah,” turns to tell Shawn he can do lunch only to find that both Shawn and Gus are long gone.

The black pit that opens up in his stomach is startling but not entirely unexpected. Was the invite a joke? A way to laugh at the man who has a crush on the nude model?

Juliet steps up beside him, takes his arm, “Oh Carlton.”

He shakes her off, collects his things, and trudges home, ignoring her shouts for him to stop, the walk will clear his head. He knew this was a bad idea, to take a class in something other than Criminology, try to expand on who he is. So he’s the guy who’d rather study than party, who’s more comfortable at the gun range than on a date. So he knows the entire law book of California and not what band has a song out on the radio. That doesn’t make him a bad person, or a person unworthy of affection and love.

What right did Shawn have to try and hurt him? To make him look like a fool? Who the hell did he think he was treating a person that way?

The more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets (realizes the anger is a front to push down the hurt, doesn’t really care) and by the time he’s back at his apartment he’s absolutely seething and sweating from his five mile walk in the Santa Barbara sun.

Rips off his clothes and shoes the second he’s in the door, leaves a trail of sweat-stained cotton behind him as he weaves through the house towards the shower. Scrubs vigorously as though his shame and embarrassment can rinse down the drain with the soap. Still can’t stop from taking himself in hand, lose himself in the feeling and the rhythm and the memory of a naked Shawn burned behind closed eyelids.

God he’s so pathetic.

00000000

Juliet shows up at his front door the next day, bullies her way into his kitchen, cooks him breakfast while he stands in a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt in the doorway, watching her with the vague feeling that he’s lost himself somewhere and is now in Alice’s fabled Wonderland.

She sets the table with eggs and pancakes and bacon, shoves him into a chair, slides him orange juice and coffee; sits down across from him.

“We don’t have to go back, you know.”

“I know,” takes a bite of pancake, smiles, they’re heavenly, “but I’m not giving that jackass the satisfaction of running me out.”

She smiles then, sips her juice, bright and happy, and he can’t stop himself from returning the grin, even only a little.

000000000

The next Sunday Shawn is back on the pedestal in the middle of the room, naked and lounging, and gorgeous and carefree and Carlton hates him a little bit for being so damn desirable; and he hates himself even more for being attracted to him.

Why is it he’s always attracted to the homophobes?

But Shawn is looking at him again, then glancing away as though afraid he’ll get caught and he looks a little like he hasn’t slept the night before and why in the hell is Carlton worrying about him? Their eyes catch and Shawn is the one to flush this time and Carlton becomes even more confused because Shawn’s unspoken signals all seem to say that he’s still interested.

But if he is still interested then why did he walk out the other day? Is he ashamed of being attracted to another man? It’s something that Carlton himself is all too familiar with. He’d fought his own battle when he’d first started undergraduate school, decided finally that man or woman he didn’t care, he was going to be attracted to who he wanted to be attracted to, and the rest of the damn world can hate him if they want, but he isn’t going to do something that makes him unhappy to make someone else happy. (Reason he wants to be a cop, make people accountable for their actions, ignore the desire of his mother that he get a regular nine to five and settle down, 2.5 kids and the picket fence.) He won’t let some random guy in the community center destroy him, no matter how gorgeous.

He touches up on his sketch from two weeks before, makes an effort to capture the proper proportion of Shawn’s legs. Stares unabashed at the other man’s face, works on the shape of his eyes. Shawn blushes but returns the gaze evenly, looking…hopeful?

Carlton isn’t sure, he’s not good with emotions when they’re his own, let alone when they’re shown on someone else’s face.

The class ends and he packs up his things, and tries to ignore how Shawn has donned his robe and is now currently fluttering just to his left, looking like he’s doing his best to reign himself in. Carlton, for his part, ignores him, and Juliet, God bless her, does too, shoots a dirty look Shawn’s way and Shawn actually flushes, rubs the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, steps to the side when Juliet and Carlton leave arm in arm. They run into Gus in the hallway and Juliet stops, her “flirting” smile firmly in place and Carlton dithers in the hall, steps out of earshot so they can talk, but knows that if he abandons her she’ll only call him to talk tonight, best to get it over with when he walks her back to her apartment, reluctant to let her travel alone, even in broad daylight.

Shawn enters the hall, back in his street clothes and Carlton’s breath catches in his throat. He really is unfairly attractive and Carlton feels the heat rise in his cheeks when Shawn’s smile is centered on him. The shorter man steps over to a nervous Carlton and his smile turns sheepish when he reaches him, he goes back to rubbing his neck, shifting in his stance.

“Hey.”

Carlton nods, “Hi,” his mother raised him to be polite, even if he doesn’t want to be.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the other day.”

Carlton bites back his retort, lets Shawn dance around a little more.

“I didn’t,” the younger man clears his throat, blush high on his cheeks, “I didn’t realize you had a girlfriend, I guess I just assumed…” bites his lip, “Well, anyway, thanks for not punching me out.”

Carlton feels like his stomach has dropped through the floor. Girlfriend? Who in the hell…Juliet’s tinkling laugh interrupts his thoughts and he realizes.

“No!” it comes out much louder and more forceful than he had intended but it does stop Shawn from running away.

“What?”

“Juliet’s…she’s a friend, just, just a friend.”

Shawn stares at him a moment before his brightest smile yet unfolds, “Really?”

Carlton nods, “Yes.”

Shawn reaches out, places his hand on Carlton’s bicep, his touch practically burns through the cloth.

“So, that lunch?”

Carlton smirks, finally feeling like he has the upper-hand here, “I don’t know, you did run out on me last time.”

Shawn ducks his head in what has to be the cutest display of shyness that Carlton’s ever seen.

“Sorry about that, I just figured that, well, once you understood it was a date, you’d go all…straight guy on me.”

Carlton smiles in commiseration, he’s asked straight guys out before, gotten punched once or twice for his troubles, understands Shawn’s fear.

“So, Shawn, lunch?”

Shawn grins widely, runs his hand down Carlton’s arm, the tips of his fingers settle on the older man’s wrist as he twists, looks over his shoulder.

“Hey Gus! You mind walking home?”

Gus turns, waves Shawn away, before turning back to Juliet and when Carlton sends a look to the blonde, asking silently if it’s all right to leave, she smiles and nods, eyes bright, expression promising that they’ll talk about this later.

He and Shawn leave together and the younger man can’t seem to stop touching Carlton, a hand on his lower back, his arm, and every touch burns, makes Carlton wish for somewhere a little darker, a little more private.

Once they reach the sunlit streets they both pause, uncertain as to where it is they’re going, in such a delighted hurry to be together that they forgot they need a destination.

“Uh, I know a diner just a few blocks over,” Carlton offers and Shawn smiles, slow and full of promise and gestures for Carlton to lead the way. The stroll down the street is silent, but comfortable, and Shawn’s hand bumps Carlton’s every so often, and he fights the blush rising under his skin. He wants to say something, get to know Shawn better, but his tongue feels heavy and thick in his mouth and he can hardly even breathe.

“So, Carlton, I wouldn’t have pegged you for an art type.”

His smile is infectious and Carlton finds himself returning it without thought.

“I’m not really, Juliet dragged me to her class; I’m a Criminology student.”

Shawn’s face passes in shadow for a moment but as soon as it appears it’s gone and Carlton wonders if he imagined it. But he gets the feeling that talking about cops might not be all that welcome, and though he promises himself to explore that later, he changes the subject to what it is Shawn is doing, how he fell into nude modeling. And Shawn launches into a story about all of the jobs he’s had since he graduated from high school and there’s a bright twinkle in his green eyes as he talks about all of his adventures and he reminds Carlton of his brother a little bit, someone who just can’t seem to decide who they are or where they want to be, but with Shawn it’s simply because he wants to learn so much, he isn’t running away from a less than satisfactory home life.

At least that’s the assumption, and Carlton hopes he isn’t wrong.

But they talk about everything and nothing on their way to the diner and they continue talking through their lunch, laughing and smiling, and Shawn’s foot rubbing up Carlton’s calf under the table, and he can’t stop the flush that settles itself high on his cheeks at the sensation. He’s been with men before, dark alleys and grunted moans, but he’s never had the time to enjoy it like this, anticipation and curiosity.

His previous dalliances have all been the result of too many drinks and a bad day.

But he’s in bright daylight, a public setting that’s casual, no desperate attempts of the inebriated to find another body to warm their sheets, and he almost wishes it was as Shawn’s foot travels higher, sends electric pulses shooting directly to Carlton’s groin.

He gulps down a large sip of water in an attempt to keep himself under control, but Shawn is smiling smugly at him, knows exactly what he’s doing as his foot lands itself in Carlton’s lap and Carlton suddenly can’t breathe, inhales sharply through his nose, glances around to see if anyone can tell what it is Shawn is doing.

“Shawn,” he growls warningly, but there’s no real urgency behind it because Shawn is gorgeous and interested and Carlton feels drawn to him in a way he’s never experienced, and would it really be so bad to give in? To drag Shawn back to his apartment and have his wicked way with him until neither of them even remember their names?

In the end he chickens out and mutters a lame excuse and bolts for the bathroom.

The relief he feels when he sees it’s empty is nearly overwhelming and he gets a glimpse of himself in the mirror, flushed face, he looks unraveled, hot and bothered, and he’s pretty sure that the rest of the diner could guess what it was Shawn was doing under that table.

He’s in the process of splashing some water on his face when Shawn slips in the room, closes the door behind him and twists the lock.

Lust shoots through Carlton’s limbs when their gazes connect in the mirror and then Shawn’s there, turning him around, burying clever fingers in his hair and kissing him; devouring him like he’s made of pure oxygen, and even as his better sense tells him that they’re in a public restroom and this is wrong, and dirty, and he doesn’t know this man, he kisses back, tongues tangling and soft, desperate little noises when Shawn presses closer and rocks against his thigh.

They break for air and Shawn’s eyes are bright and slightly glazed over when he grabs a hold of Carlton’s t-shirt and drags him into the nearest stall, slams him up against the teal wall and attacks his neck, kisses and licks and soft love bites and Carlton groans, his head slams back against the wall with a dull thud, and his hips rock forward.

Shawn moans and suckles harder on Carlton’s pulse point, matching the thrusting of the older man’s hips. Carlton’s very aware that they’re making a lot of noise, and with the door being locked he knows that the entire diner is probably aware of what they’re doing, but with Shawn’s hands and lips all over him, he doesn’t care.

“I don’t usually put out on the first date,” Shawn mutters against his throat and Carlton just groans, because even if it’s a lie, it’s so damn _hot_ that he pulls Shawn’s lips up to his own, and presses him against the far wall. Shawn whimpers, clings to Carlton’s shoulders, blunt nails digging into tender flesh. One leg coming up to wrap around the back of Carlton’s thighs, rocking them together in an erotic roll that has Carlton’s knees feeling a little weak.

Then Shawn breaks the kiss, pushes Carlton back, cool air flush against his damp chest and he whimpers without meaning to, not understanding why Shawn would start this if he didn’t intend to finish it.

Then Shawn steps forward just a touch, and Carlton watches him, curious despite himself. The younger man drops to his knees on the fifties style tile and looks up at Carlton through heavy lidded eyes. Carlton can’t be sure but he thinks he may have swallowed his tongue. Then Shawn’s fingers are on his belt and swiftly divesting him of the constraints of his jeans and boxers.

His erection twitches as Shawn looks avidly at him, lips slightly swollen from their kissing, his shirt rumpled and his hair clearly showing signs of the grip Carlton’s had on it. Then Shawn’s lips wrap around Carlton’s cock and Carlton’s completely lost, completely buried in the wet, slick heat of Shawn’s mouth, his tongue dancing wicked lines along the underside of his erection.

“Shawn,” he gasps and Shawn hums in response and Carlton’s eyes cross. He’s too damn good at this, and it’s been so long since Carlton has had any touch other than his own right hand and he couldn’t possibly last long under the exquisite assault and he opens his mouth to say as much when Shawn pulls back, takes a few deep breaths, stroking Carlton from root to tip.

“Fuck my mouth,” he growls before swallowing Carlton down again, and Carlton always has been good at taking orders so he allows his hips to shift, thrust forward gently, careful not to hurt Shawn, but then the younger man is gripping him by his hipbones and pulling him forward harshly, and Carlton’s erection hits the back of his throat, but Shawn just moans; the heel of his hand digging into his own clothed erection.

He’s clearly enjoying this as much as Carlton and so the almost cop lets his restraints go and pistons his hips in smooth rolling motions that has Shawn unzipping his jeans, fisting himself roughly. And it’s been so long since he’s done this that he’s reaching his breaking point embarrassingly quickly.

“Shawn, I…”

But Shawn just hollows his cheeks and sucks harder and Carlton loses himself in the best orgasm of his life, the whole world whites out for a minute, and when he comes back to himself, he’s collapsed against the wall and Shawn has stood, pressed himself up against Carlton and is pressing kisses to his throat.

“Fuck,” is the first syllable out of his mouth and Shawn chuckles, kisses the hickey that’s formed on Carlton’s pulse point.

“I bet our check is ready,” is Shawn’s reply and Carlton laughs, feeling the best he has in a long time, his body settling happily into afterglow and Shawn seems just as lethargic, his own orgasm having hit just seconds after Carlton’s own. It takes them a minute before they straighten up, clean themselves off and unlock the bathroom door.

They’re unceremoniously chased from the diner by the woman who owns it, with strict instructions to never return after they’ve paid their bill and Carlton’s left a hefty tip on the table. They run from the diner laughing, hand in hand, and it’s been years since Carlton’s allowed himself to feel this happy, to act with this much abandon and it feels pretty damn good.

When Shawn looks up at him with a smile he returns it and pulls the younger man in for another kiss.

“My place is only a few blocks from here,” he says between kisses and Shawn grins against his mouth.

“I don’t put out on the first date, remember?”

Carlton laughs and slips his hand in Shawn’s back pocket, “I bet I could get you to change your mind.”

Shawn pretends to think it over before smiling and nuzzling into Carlton’s throat, “Persuade away.”

000000000

Two hours and twice as many persuasive actions later finds Carlton in bed with a sleeping Shawn curled tightly to his chest. The younger man is drooling, but Carlton doesn’t care, just hugs him closer, entwines their legs and pulls the comforter over them.

He’s a Criminology major, but he thinks he could be persuaded to appreciate art.


End file.
